


Dark Corners

by spookyknight



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Public Sex, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyknight/pseuds/spookyknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the Doctor gets it wrong. He takes them to a completely different place and time than he originally intended. This time, Rose finds he planned this all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cowards in You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a different Doctor than my normal characterization, which was a bit of a challenge for me. Hopefully it pays off. Many thanks to callistawolf for her awesome beta work.

She doesn’t remember; not like he does. The burning, all-encompassing power of time ran its course through her veins and faded, leaving her safe. But time is a thing which he can touch; he communes with it constantly. Its presence lingers, worrying signs nagging his consciousness.

There’s a storm coming, and for once, it’s bigger than himself. It will tear her away from him -- if he lets it. Without her, he will descend into the madness of a man who has nothing left to lose. Proclaiming himself the winner, he will nearly destroy the very spoils of his victory. It’s a slippery path, pulling at the frayed edges of time… dangerous. But that’s who he is; he’s kidding himself when he thinks he is nothing more than a madman in a box searching for the latest fun. The Doctor is a force, willful and mighty, not a passive bystander in the flow of time. He’ll be damned if he’s going to let the love of his life be ripped away from him without a fight.

It won’t be an overture. He won’t let that prophecy come true, the one that sends him headlong into destructive chaos. The Doctor doesn’t want to be that man. The Time Lord Victorious isn’t a being worthy of Rose’s love and worthy is something he desperately wants to be. No, instead he can take the subtle approach. He can impart minor changes that shift the future in a more positive direction, keep timelines intact, minimize collateral damage. In his more honest, frightening moments, he knows he’d tear it all apart to keep her, but the whole point of utilizing the knowledge gifted to him by the Bad Wolf is to make it so he doesn’t have to.

While he has her, he wants to show Rose as much of the universe as they can cram into her waking hours -- every beautiful, hopeful, and awesome thing there is to see. The universe, however, is not all pretty to look at. The Doctor avoids the ugly places when he can. He knows all the seedy underbellies and dingy alleyways… can almost effectively steer away from the most shadowed bits of real estate. Only, today, he’s brought her right to the doorstep.

He’s testing her. If he’s really going through with the madness he has in mind, if he really wants to keep her, she’ll need to be prepared. The longer they travel on, the fewer and fewer bright spots there’ll be. He needs to see how she reacts; to test the waters slowly, wading in the shallow end first. Then, he will see the stuff Rose Tyler is made of.

Rose is walking ahead of him, not leading, the steps she takes are much too cautious. All he told her before exiting the TARDIS was that this was a wardrobe adventure, a code that he’s developed recently for a recreational outing; one where no trouble is expected. The TARDIS has provided her with an appropriate, though comparatively modest, garment -- a midnight blue draped jersey dress.

The thin cotton knit hangs loosely from her shoulders at the neckline, the cowl neck repeating in the back but dipping even lower. A thin string tied across her upper back is all that keeps the short cropped sleeves from falling apart and down her bare arms. With her hair up in a messy chignon, the skin of her neck and décolleté are on display unimpeded. The dress is fitted from the waist down to the short hemline that stops mid-thigh. The taut fabric stretches and clings around her hips as she moves, distracting him thoroughly.

“This is a sex club,” she states in a hushed voice. Her eyes are wide and relatively innocent. It’s not that Rose has never seen the act of sex on display, she has. It’s just she’s never been quite so close at hand before. She’s never been quite so immersed and surrounded by the physicality of carnal pleasure.

“Yes.” He answers evenly, withholding any judgement from his tone.

They’re still near the entrance; very close to the prying eyes of the public. The acts are not all that explicit yet. Here, the couples engaged are still mostly clothed, snogging, petting, and grinding. Hands shoved discreetly beneath fabric and hushed gasps and moans. Were the authorities to charge in, there’s still plausible deniability that this is just a nightclub where things just got a little too intense.

He could still play it off, pretend this was another case of bad driving, and put off the seeming inevitability of confronting this tension that’s grown between them. But the Doctor knows he has to be braver than that. It’s his cowardice that will lose her and he will _not_ lose her.

Rose swallows, and he watches the skin of her throat move with the action as her eyes, cagey and uncertain, dart around the dimly lit room. “Why did you bring us here?”

He fixes her with a steady gaze, but she’s not looking. It seems as though she can’t meet his eyes. “The TARDIS brought us here,” he clarifies, his tone matter-of fact. A pause, and then he gives her an out, if she wants to take it. “Do you want to go?”

“No,” she replies automatically.

He can see her bristle, knows she’s trying hard to be brave and appear collected because he’s seen it before. Rose is resilient and has proven this on a hundred different planets with cultures and customs completely foreign to her 21st century human sensibilities. On the outside, she seems to take it all in stride, even if on the inside she’s crumbling.

This won’t break her; Rose has seen much worse. But he’s pretty sure it’s going to break _them_. He thinks they need this, though. Because as much as they can try and patch up the cracks in trust and security that were always going to appear in an interstellar, interspecies relationship, sometimes it must be torn down to the foundations in order to build something better and stronger. He wants this, so badly he can taste it over the musk of sex and sweat in the air.

“Shall we get a drink?” His offer is light, belying the the strained situation in which they now find themselves.

The Doctor gestures further inside the club, where there is indeed a lavish bar adorned in dark wood and sultry red and gold lighting. Rose nods stiffly and makes her way through the sparse crowd with purpose. She has a target now, a destination. The nature of the club around them can fade into the background while she zeroes in on her goal. She walks with the single-mindedness of a child playing capture-the-flag with home base in sight, never looking back at the Doctor, but trusting him to follow.

A pretty blonde appearing to be readily available, Rose attracts the bartender’s attention almost immediately. She orders a Mai Tai, a drink she’s favored since their trip to New York in the height of the cocktail era. The Doctor reaches the bar a second behind and requests a sidecar, matching her in era and recalling the memory of that journey. He sees the flash of her wistful smirk in profile for just a moment before it’s gone.

Their drinks appear on the bartop moments later and the Doctor gives the usual alias to keep a tab open. He leads Rose to one of the hightops in the center near the bar, choosing a table far enough from any other occupied seats to give them a little privacy. Rose settles onto the barstool and curls her fingers around the cool glass, wet with condensation. Her lips wrap around the yellow straw but before she takes a sip, she hesitates.

She sits back, releasing the straw quickly. “There’s nothing in this, right?”

“Alcohol,” he responds blandly.

She rolls her eyes, seeing through his attempt at being willfully obtuse. “You know what I mean. Drugs or weird alien aphrodisiacs.”

“Just alcohol and fruit juice,” he assures her. “Look around, Rose. When are we?”

She looks at him pointedly. “You tell me.”

“No, you tell me.” He takes her hand from it’s resting place on the table. With his free hand, he waves at the bar around them. “Come on, you’ve been around. Use what you’ve learned on our travels together.”

She knows he’s not going to drop it so she huffs and makes an exaggerated show of looking at the club around them. Her eyes dash all over, never settling for fear of catching too close a look at one of the raunchy scenes near the edges of the room. But he can tell the moment she really starts _seeing_.

He’s offered her a challenge and Rose is never one to back down. Her sweeping looks turn more calculating and analytical, picking out clues and viewing their surroundings as evidence rather than happenstance.

“Everyone’s human, no aliens in this place.” She brings her wandering eyes back to the Doctor, raising an eyebrow in question. “Unless there’s something I’m not seeing?”

He chuckles a bit, feeling as if the heavy atmosphere that had descended since entering this place grow lighter. Isn’t this so easy; isn’t this so them? Right now the muffled sounds of pleasure and distracting sensual displays from the wings don’t matter, it’s just the Doctor and Rose, on another adventure together.

“No, you’re right,” he concedes. “I am the only one person in here that isn’t human.”

She nods, taking this information to heart for use in her hypothesis. Rose scans the bar ahead of them and the patrons enjoying drinks and light nibbles at the tables here in the center.

“No futuristic tech, from what I can see. Everything seems pretty… current. Are we on Earth?”

He beams at her. “Good, Rose. You’re doing well. You’ve got the planet we’re on.”

She smiles proudly, tongue poking out at the corner between her teeth. With renewed confidence, she scans the area again and ventures forward in their little guessing game.

“Can’t be too far in the future,” she proposes. “The bartender took your name for a tab and you didn’t bring your credit stick. Maybe a couple hundred years past my time?”

He flashes a teasing smile. “You don’t _know_ I didn’t bring any credits.” Rose rolls her eyes heavenward again. He ignores her and continues. “But otherwise, very astute. A few centuries is right. You find yourself in 25th century Alsace of the New European Union.”

“And what happened to the old European Union?” she banters easily.

“I happened,” he says dismally, staring down into his drink. “Among other things.”

And just like that, Rose closes off, as she’s been conditioned to do whenever he hints vaguely at events in his past. She sits back, grabbing her drink from the table and drawing long sips through the straw.

He knows his own past behavior has encouraged this response in her. It’s something he’s hoping to change, but there’s a lot riding on this particular outing, and he’ll have to take one step at a time. Allowing her the space of silence, he turns his attention to his own cocktail, letting the quiet to settle between them until it’s less a presence of discomfort and more like a simple absence of words.

Their glasses gradually empty and the Doctor removes them to the bar for seconds. Waiting for his drinks, he notices a few new groups enter the club and a few others abandoning plush couches in favor of refreshments. It’s a bit like a changing of the guard; couples finishing their business and new ones taking their post in turn for their own intimate tryst.

With fresh blood, the sounds of lovemaking from the walls around them renew with escalating vigor. Even with her new drink, the buzz of inebriation surely beginning to set in, Rose is flustered and begins fidgeting in her seat.

“Is this going to become a thing now?” she jokes, her voice teasing but her eyes anxious. “A tour of recreational orgies through time? Is Rome next?”

His face remains serious and she pales a little bit.

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can leave at any time,” he reminds her.

“Should I be uncomfortable?” Rose snaps back, growing defensive. “Tell me what I’m supposed to be feeling right now?”

“There’s no prescribed way for you to feel, Rose,” he tells her plainly. “However you react is perfectly appropriate. I’d only expect your honest response.”

She exhales roughly, embarrassment and indignation warring for dominance in her demeanor. “I just don’t understand why we’re here, in a sex club, in the 25th century, on Earth, with only humans all around us. Is there some alien invasion starting? An underground rebellion I should know about?”

He meets her temper with coolness, his face determined and sedate. “Do all our stops have to have some sort of purpose?”

Rose shakes her head, befuddled by his detached attitude. “Well that’s what we do, isn’t it? defend the Earth, save the world -- whatever world we happen to be on? Isn’t that the whole point?”

“If you recall,” the Doctor begins, trying to match her solemnity and fighting not to smile. “We don’t go looking for trouble. It seems to have a way of finding us.”

“But we don’t do this. We don’t just visit places like tourists.”

“We’ve been to leisure planets,” he points out. “We went to Veralon Seven a few weeks back.”

She sighs, growing frustrated with his constant challenges. “That was to relax after The Wire. We got massages and ate tropical fruit. You wouldn’t let me wear sunglasses because you wanted to see my face.” She leans forward, then, raising her chin to make sure she’s captured his eyes. “What’s the meaning behind this place?

“Sometimes it’s just about experiencing,” he explains softly. “There’s a lot to this universe, Rose, and when you signed up to come aboard, you signed up to experience it all. The good, the bad, and everything in between.”

Her eyebrows rise far up her forehead in surprise. “And what am I supposed to ‘experience’ here, hmm?”

The Doctor’s face draws tight, brows furrowed and lips in a thin line. She’s being more closed-minded than he expected after all this time.

“On Xev’aii, we attended the harvest ceremony and you danced around the fire with all the villagers. In New York, we visited a speakeasy to see how the Americans responded to Prohibition and drank a version of these very cocktails. When we visited Alegari, you and I watched the colored sandstorms of the Tendam desert from the viewing platform. How is this any different?”

“Because, _Doctor_ ,” she shrieks, louder than she probably intended. “This is sex!”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she glances around in a panic to see if anyone heard. The patrons of the bar don’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in their own conversations or activities. Rose heaves a defeated sigh, her shoulders slumping.

“You don’t have to participate,” the Doctor says. “You can just observe. You can simply be here as a part of this time, this place. Or, we can leave. Get on the TARDIS and go somewhere else. We’ve no responsibility to anyone here. Not yet.”

“But anything could happen,” she murmured profoundly. “In the next moment, a plague could break out. Or a meteor could fall from the sky.”

His lip quirks up, just a bit, at that. She’s beginning to understand.

“Yes. It’s possible. It’s also possible that nothing happens. You and I just sit here like normal customers. Finish our drinks, decide what to do next. Eventually, we leave without incident.”

Rose snorts. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I don’t think the words ‘without incident’ apply in our case.”

She sits quietly for a moment, legs swinging lazily below the table. Her eyes focus on her mostly empty cocktail glass and she bites her lip, teeth lightly grazing the skin beneath her mouth. Overall, he doesn’t think she’s made up her mind; on this place, on her future, on him. But that’s all right. They are a work in progress.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks and his voice is kind.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I guess so. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to not know.”

She smiles cheekily. “Can I get that on tape?”

“Oi!” He kicks the sole of her trainer with his foot playfully beneath the table. “I have, Rose Tyler, on such an occasion that I am unaware of something, admitted to that fact.”

“Mmm,” she intones skeptically.

His foot lingers against hers in a daring move an Earthling might call ‘footsie.’ It’s not completely foreign, these days, the little bits of affection they show one another. Their feelings are there, brewing beneath the surface, bubbling up every so often with an errant look or a lingering touch. Largely, though, they are still caged. Both remain hesitant to let those feelings out -- different reasons that all lead to the same end -- the protection of one’s heart. So their feet touch, moving gently against one another, but their eyes don’t meet. The gesture is offered but not acknowledged.

He could let it be; keep their actions light and flirty as he always has before, but things would never move forward. This whole night is about pushing boundaries. The Doctor runs his foot deliberately up her leg, his ankle rubbing against the inside of her calf.

He watches the emotions play across her face; shock first, her eyes widening just a bit. Confusion, as she tries to compose herself, pursing her lips and nostrils flaring as she inhales deeply. Curiosity, as a pink blush paints her cheeks and she slowly lifts her eyes to meet his. Her breath hitches at what she finds in his stare. He’s holding nothing back this time, letting all his desire and affection play out on his face.

A loud moan sounds from behind them, startling Rose visibly. She flushes a deeper shade of red and breaks his intense gaze.

“Can I…” she hedges, licking her lips and swallowing. “Can I have another drink?”

“Of course.” He nods, gathering their empty glasses and retreating to the bar.

He thinks she needs this space, a moment alone to organize her thoughts. The Doctor, for his part, isn’t sure whether to be grateful for the break or apprehensive. The more time he has to think, the more he’ll think about backing down and running away. He wants her but there are still so many reasons why he should let her go. And worse, there’s still the chance he’s read the signs wrong, that he isn’t what she wants. He’s so far gone, he’s not sure what he’ll do if she turns him away.

When he returns with fresh drinks for the second time, she looks determined. This is the Rose Tyler with whom he is accustomed, decisive and ready to confront him head-on. He thinks -- hopes -- he’s ready.

“I’m human,” she blurts out abruptly. “Sometimes I wonder if you forget that. I know you think this is all very scientific, coming here to observe cultural norms or whatever… but if you bring a human to a place like this, where all this is happening, she’s going to get ideas.”

“You’re allowed ideas. That’s the whole point.”

She scoffs, clearly disgruntled, shaking her head peevishly. “Yeah, but not like this. I don’t want to hook up with some stranger here.” Rose looks at him directly, making sure he understands. “That is not something I want.”

He regards her closely, his own expression inquisitive and honest. “What _do_ you want, Rose?”

“I want…” she answers quickly but stops short, censoring herself.

The Doctor reaches across the table, grasping both her hands tightly. He squeezes, waiting until she faces him. “You can tell me. Look where we are.” He glances around the room in an exaggerated fashion. “Everyone is living out their fantasies here. It’s a safe place. Anything you want, you can have it.”

She looks back at him, eyes wide and shining. “Is that why you brought me here?”

“There doesn’t have to be a ‘why,’” he says soberly. “We’re here, now. In this moment. And you’re free to choose. Anything you want.”

There are subtle changes, things a human might miss. But to the Doctor, they are extremely clear. Her breath comes deeper, pulling quickly into her lungs where it is reluctant to let go. Her pulse speeds up, just a fraction, and her fingers clench reflexively in his hands.

“Anything?” she asks hesitantly, and there’s an undercurrent of wonder in her voice, as though she can barely dare to believe.

He nods sincerely. “That’s what I promised.”

“I…” Rose takes a shaky breath. Then she whispers, so softly he can barely hear. “I want you.”


	2. Bodies with No Remorse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to callistawolf again for the beta. And on this chapter, a special shout-out to kelkat9, lastincurableromantic, and a few others for their invaluable help with the dancing -- which, for some inexplicable reason, is even harder to describe than 'dancing.'

The Doctor climbs down off his seat, rounding the table to stand before her. He’s on his feet but he may as well be on his knees, supplicant as he is to her desires. He never lets go of her hands.

“You have me,” he assures her. The words come out quickly; a relief that he can finally say them.

She laughs but it isn’t out of mirth. It’s a helpless, self-deprecating sound. “But I don’t. Not in that way. I want _more_.”

“You have it, Rose,” he insists. His hearts are racing, his body already excited by the mere prospect of joining with her. It must be obvious. He’s always been so bloody obvious. “It’s already yours.”

“Doctor…”

His name, breathless and wanton from her lips, is the only invitation he needs. She’s barely finished speaking it before he covers her lips with his, breathing it down along with her alcohol-sweetened breath. Rose is surprised but clearly enthused by his actions if her response is any indication. Her fingers find his hair almost magnetically, lips open against his, body arching to meet him. She moans into his mouth, her distinct voice joining the chorus of pleasured sounds in the room and, _oh yes_ , he’s pretty sure she wants him.

Rose loses herself for a moment, sinks into his arms and revels in the feeling of his lips moving with hers, the fire each stroke of his tongue ignites inside of her. He’s good at this, snogging, for as much as he seems to avoid it. It’s stirring and addictive, but also new, and she finds herself breathless too soon.

She pushes him away, just a little; gives herself enough distance to get some clarity.

“So… just…” she pauses, trying to catch her breath. “Sorry, you need to make this clear. You want to…”

His hands slide down her sides until he’s gripping her hips, pulling her forward roughly in one motion. She feels him, hot and hard between her thighs and there’s her answer.

The Doctor growls, harsh and low. “Yes.”

Rose wonders how long he’s been aroused. Since they kissed, since they sat down, since they walked in?

Either way, he’s given himself over to it, now. He crashes his mouth to hers again and it’s overwhelming that she can do this now. That they can have this together. The Doctor is in constant motion, his hands, lips and tongue all driving her towards frenzy. She whimpers and he groans. She turns her head and he charges forward, unimpeded, trailing his mouth across her cheek and over her jaw.

His tongue is tasting her neck when she remembers her lips are free. She can speak, if she can manage to put two thoughts together.

“We should get back…” she suggests, breaking for a moan as he sucks at her pulse point. “TARDIS…”

“Why wait?” he mumbles into the skin of her shoulder.

Rose pulls back to look at him, then glances around nervously. “Here?”

“Why not here?” he asks, and there’s something raw and honest in his voice that makes her shudder. “Of all the places in the universe, why not here?”

He holds her gaze, his eyes dark and his expression almost challenging.

“Why not on the TARDIS, in one of our bedrooms, in a bed?” she asks flatly.

He tilts his head to the side, as though pretending to consider. “Could do. But right now, you have the chance to be a part of something.”

It’s his zealous attitude right there that frightens her. He may be up for anything, but Rose has her limits. She’s afraid that somewhere along the line, the wires got crossed. Maybe they don’t want the same thing. It’s just that every significant moment that’s passed between them made her think… she was pretty sure he loved her back. The relatively monogamous, greedy kind of love that she feels deep inside her bones for him, she thought he shared. But his interest in this place worries her. Maybe she’s just a passing fancy after all. A convenient body to warm his bed.

“I don’t want…” Her voice chokes with doubt. “With another bloke…”

His eyes flash dangerously, a glint of lightning from the Oncoming Storm. He cups her cheek, the touch gentle but his hand is trembling with restraint.

“And I don’t want to share you,” he confirms thickly.

She ducks her head, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. He buries his hand in her hair, stroking the pads of his fingers soothingly against her scalp.

“It’s just…” She sighs, frustrated with how to voice her concerns. ”Everyone will see us. Isn’t that kind of like sharing?”

Rose has dreamed of the consummation of her feelings for him more times than she’s likely to admit. The fantasies vary, from long and languorous in a steaming hot bath, to quick and dirty against the console. There’s more, of course; she’s not without her own kinks after all, and there have been many lonely nights aboard the TARDIS after they go their separate ways.

But always, _always_ , it’s the two of them; just them, even when Jack was around. The Doctor holds a special place in her heart where there’s no room for anyone else. The thought of sharing this turning point in front of dozens of strangers just seems wrong somehow.

He takes a deep breath and she’s not sure if she should be insulted by how quickly he’s calm and clear-headed.

“There’s a collective consciousness of arousal all around us,” he explains smoothly. “You’re affected by what you perceive with your physical senses. Sight, sound, smell. But there’s also a psychic resonance that comes from this much sexual activity in one place. Not a direct link into the minds of the individuals, but an overall vibe. There’s a hum of sensuality here, and it’s resonating in both of us.”

Her head jerks up quickly and she levels him with a leery glare. The bastard. All that bollocks about happening here by accident when he’d planned this all along. As seductions go, it’s a subversive, manipulative thing to do. But honestly, it’s what she’s come to expect from the Doctor, who always seems to know best for her; for both of them.

He doesn’t. He gets things wrong and she thinks he knows it. Right now, she’s not sure whether this particular plan is wrong or right. They’ve opened up the conversation, at least, which she was beginning to think would never happen. She can still taste him on her tongue, feel his warmth where he’s still pressed against her.

The knowledge creeps in that he planned this; he devised a situation to try and entice her to have sex with him. It’s strangely flattering and humbling at the same time, and Rose can’t quite wrap her head around it.

“So you want to,” she proposes for confirmation. “You want us to fuck right here?”

He flinches, just a bit, at the profanity, but he also pushes his hips into hers. She thinks maybe he likes the vulgarity.

The Doctor brushes a lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering tenderly on her cheek.

“I’m open to the idea,” he says. “But I’ll never force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

She nods to herself, glad to have that pressure, at least, off her shoulders. The Doctor’s never forced her to do something with which she’s not comfortable, outside of dire circumstances. She trusts him.

“I want to be open,” she confesses bravely. “If this is really something you want. But I just don’t know.”

He nods, giving her a reassuring smile. “Why don’t we have a look around? See what it’s all about. Then you can decide for the both of us.” He closes his eyes and presses a firm kiss to her forehead. “I’ll only ever do what you want, Rose.”

The breath leaves her body in a rush, a mixture of relief and apprehension brewing within her. The uncertainty is a high in its own right, fueling her body’s anticipation for fulfillment. Is this what he’s chasing, what he was craving that ultimately brought them here? There’s the thrill of getting caught, but more, the _excitement_ of doing this where others _will_ see them, a passionate realization of their feelings on display for anyone to watch.

Rose isn’t entirely convinced, but the Doctor has a point in that the call to adventure is universal, whether it’s the rattle of the TARDIS materializing on a new world or the next step in their relationship.

“All right,” she agrees, leaning forward to give him a quick peck on the lips as affirmation.

He grins and the warm, sultry look in his eyes from before returns. It’s a countenance she’s seen before, on occasion, but it still manages to make her insides aflutter.

Rose lets him lead her from their table, where their third round of drinks still sit untouched, towards the next room, where dim lamps and velour give way to neon and chrome. The back partition feels more like a strip club, there are even a few long silver poles and catwalks in the large space. Along the walls and in every dark corner, there’s a lounge area with plush sofas and chairs in retro style with bold primary colors.

But the participants aren’t just concentrated around the edges, they’re everywhere. Entwined provocatively on the small dance floor at the center or scattered among the catwalks using their varied heights for leverage. Some couples don’t even need furniture, they’re perfectly happy engaging on the floor or against the wall.

This area makes the front room with the bar look like the basement of a high school party by comparison. Here, they have entered the true groupsex center of the club. All states of dress and most sexual acts are happening around them. There are faces between legs of both different and same gendered partners. Some people are coupled, others are tripled up together. A few are looking on while self-pleasuring.

Dimly, Rose wonders if they’ve both gotten the date wrong and this is, in fact, the 51st century as Jack had described it. The thrum of the music is punctuated by noises of pleasure on all frequencies -- low moans and high pitched whimpers and the percussive slap of flesh hitting flesh. The sounds course through her and her body responds, expectation setting her nerves alight.

The Doctor presses his hand low on her back, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. He’s urging her along, to move deeper into the room and wind amongst the copulating bodies before them. The contact is grounding, connecting them together and reminding her that, yes, he wants her; she’s not feeling this alone. As she begins to walk, he keeps touching her. Long fingers caress the small of her back, up and down and swirling in patterns only he can decipher.

They people they pass by pay them little mind. Most of them are focused on one another and even if they’re not, the Doctor’s close presence and possessive contact speak loud and clear that both of them are off limits.

There’s an energy in the room that’s palpable, as the Doctor said. But there’s something forbidden about it, too. Rose watches as a platinum blonde being taken from behind reaches over to the brunette woman next to her, who is riding the man beneath her. The blonde’s hand finds the other woman’s breast as lips blindly search out lips. For all Rose knows, they could be lovers or friends; or this could be the first contact that’s ever been made between them. It’s exhilarating, in that taboo sort of way.

A part of her wants to retain objectivity, but it’s getting easier to be swept away. The song over the speakers changes, an almost tribal beat that seems to shake the floor beneath them. Here, among the indulgence around them, she can make out the individual voices, sometimes words and curses uttered in the throes of pleasure. There’s a heavy scent that’s stronger too, a heady mixture of perfume, sweat, alcohol, and arousal. The visuals give her inspiration as well, of ways she and the Doctor can fit together. In every male face she surveys, contorted in pleasure, she imagines his face instead. His pale skin and handsome features, his freckles, dark eyes and soft brown hair.

As they approach the far wall, Rose catches his gaze in the floor-to-ceiling mirror there. She’s watching the room, taking in everything that’s happening around them, but the Doctor’s been watching _her_. His hand skims up to her shoulder and he turns her into him, leaning down so close, his nose becomes buried in her hair and his lips brush against the shell of her ear.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs softly. “Your skin is flushed. I don’t think you’ve ever been so pink. It’s gorgeous.”

She ducks her head, suddenly bashful in the face of his affections. It’s not as though the Doctor doesn’t pay her compliments, but usually he’s going on about her bravery or how clever he thinks she is. He rarely comments on her appearance one way or another, and if he ever hints appreciating her attractiveness, it’s buried in a lot of flustering and misdirection.

This time, he doesn’t shy away from the praise. He brings his hand around to lift her chin so she’s staring ahead of them. “Look, Rose. Look at yourself.”

She catches sight of her reflection, and it’s not all that different from the face she sees every morning. There is a heavy blush coloring her cheeks and her lips are darker too, parted just a bit to accommodate her labored breath. Her eyes are darkened by desire just like his, lashes low on her hooded eyelids.

“You always look lovely to me, Rose,” he whispers roughly, breath on her ear and eyes chasing hers in the mirror. “But I want to see every expression you make.”

As he speaks, one hand sneaks up to her breast and he traces his thumb over her nipple with just enough pressure that she can feel it through her dress. She gasps and her eyes begin to fall shut but he squeezes the fingers holding her chin, commanding her to “Watch.”

His fingers curl around soft flesh as his thumb continues its maddening circles over the center of her breast until her left nipple is taut and sensitive beneath his constant touch. This won’t send her over the edge, but it’s pushing her further than she ever would have thought, and she’s trying, really trying so hard to hold his intense stare in the mirror but it’s difficult.

“I want to see you fall,” he declares as though it’s a certainty and not a desire. “I’m going to watch your face, because I want to see it at the same moment I feel it, when you come apart around me.”

It’s too much; his voice, his erotic promises, his bold stare. Rose whimpers and falls back into him, leaning her weight against his wiry-but-strong frame. He catches her easily, letting her head fall against his shoulder and cradling her body in his arms. The Doctor nuzzles into her hair, planting a kiss there as he draws her tightly against him.

“Okay,” Rose says finally, but it’s more a sigh than a word.

“Hmm?”

He leans down again and she realizes she’ll have to speak louder to be heard over the music and the sounds of the club. His warm breath on her neck is distracting, but also alluring. It gives her courage.

“Let’s do it.”

“Rose…” He pulls away to look at her. “Are you sure?”

His words are hesitant, but his eyes are burning for her already. It’s making it hard to concentrate, but making her decision really quite easy.

“Yeah,” she breathes hoarsely, her voice so thick it’s nearly unrecognizable. She swallows and tries again. “Yes. I want you. I don’t want to wait.” They’ve wasted enough time as it is. “But...” She bites her lip, averting her eyes. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“We’ve already begun,” he rumbles sumptuously. She shudders not unpleasantly in his embrace. It’s his turn to swallow, to try and compose himself a bit. “Why don’t we just find a place to sit? We can go from there.”

“Okay…” she agrees breathlessly. She catches movement out of the corner of her eye, and oh, there’s a good place to start. “But first… dance with me.”

She pulls away, moving backward towards the dance floor and pulling him by the hand. He eyes the space behind her dubiously.

“I don’t really…” he protests with some trepidation.

“You really do,” she quips with a cheeky smirk. “Or don’t you remember 1941, the London Blitz?” On the edge of the floor, with some distance from the other couples, Rose tugs the Doctor forward until his body is flush with hers. “Come on, Doctor. My turn to lead.”

Her words are mostly for show, but surprisingly, he lets her take charge, allowing her to mold his body at will. He doesn’t really move at first, waiting for her to set the tone of this interplay, and she wonders if it’s surrender, if it’s giving even a small part over to the music and letting go, that makes dancing scare him so much. So many things he tries to control, both literally and indirectly, she thinks it must be foreign submitting to beat he doesn’t set for himself.

Rose has never shied away from being a teacher when he needs one. She puts one of his hands on her waist and he needs little encouragement in that, at least. His fingers splay out over the swell of her hip, claiming it. Her other hand smooths up his chest to the open collar of his shirt. No tie. That should have been her first clue something was different. Only one layer beneath his suit jacket. The evidence has been staring her in the face this whole time and she’s not seen it until now.

Her fingers toying with the highest fastened button, she flicks her eyes up to meet his. He doesn’t look caught; he looks _entranced_. Her arm comes around his back, holding onto him as she allows the music to pulse through her, moving her hips in subtle circles. She’s starting slow, giving him the chance to catch up. His hand on her hip moves around to cup her bum, shifting her closer.

The Doctor tucks his head down, nuzzling her neck. His scent washes over her and its comforting; the smell of cuddles in the library and everybody-lived hugs. It gives her hope that this all ties into something more. A deeper, more powerful feeling between them that started long before the TARDIS brought them here; even before Converse and pinstripes.

He works a leg between hers, encouraging her right thigh to climb higher near his hip. His body moves with hers, using the deep bassline as a guide. Rose rocks her hips in time, his hand on her arse helping her find a rhythm. This is more than dancing -- her center rubbing with delicious friction against his thigh, his hand exploring beneath the loose fabric of the back of her dress -- but it’s not quite sex, not yet.

It’s the breaking down of already crumbling barriers, the last of her human sensibilities and his Time Lord hang-ups fading as arousal rises to take its place. The pieces start to fall into place. It’s the two of them, the Doctor and Rose coming together. It could be anywhere -- at Jackie’s flat in London or on a Sanctuary Base far, far away -- but it’s not. They are here, surrounded by the hedonistic displays of pleasure all around, and they have each other. Everything else is just background noise.

Rose turns her head, the short hairs of his sideburn brushing roughly against her cheek, so that her lips move against his ear as she whispers “I’m ready.”


	3. Sacred in the Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have our conclusion. Thank you again to callistawolf for her amazing beta job, everyone who helped, and thanks to you for reading!

The Doctor straightens and a meaningful look passes between them before he’s dipping down again to capture her lips. She’s quickly lost in the kiss, absorbed and malleable to his directions when he starts to back them up off the dance floor. As they move, he keeps her close and clinging, still moving to the cadence of the music and she thinks he’s trying to carry the feeling with them; his impatience and her acceptance.

The corner where they end up is quiet and dark, a bit more secluded here in the back away from most of the activity. There are a few other couples in the assorted furniture scattered around, but the small velour couch is mercifully empty. The upholstery shows varied shades of deep red where its soft texture has been worn the wrong way. Rose tries not to think of the previous business that’s taken place on that particular sofa as the Doctor sits back into the springy cushions, pulling her with him.

She bounces on his lap as they fall together, the motion drawing twin smiles and pleasured gasps from them both. His elated grin, the one she thinks is just for her, is comforting and familiar. It softens into something more intimate, a tenderness that pulls deeply within her heart, and suddenly she wants to capture it; to take this warmth inside herself and keep it. She seizes his lips, both hands framing his face with just the tips of her fingers tickling that gorgeous hair, and takes control of the kiss; pouring all the sweet, loving feelings she holds for him in dulcet, chaste brushes of lips before finally letting him deepen their snog into something more passionate.

Rose feels his hand climb up her spine in slow increments, playing with the tie holding her dress together and then freeing the knot. Her skin sings as the cord drops free and, with just a flick of his fingers, the gathered fabric of the sleeves falls apart, spilling over her shoulders and down. She gasps into his mouth as the fabric sweeps over her sensitized nipples. The Doctor scrambles to free her arms from the dress without relinquishing her mouth. She strives to help, her body twisting in his lap as they work the loose fabric of the neckline down to her waist, and he groans at the sparks that erupt when her hips pitch forward.

The neckline of the dress cascades to her hips, exposing her chest where the Doctor’s hungry gaze is drawn immediately. He takes her in, awed not only by the beauty before him but the fact that finally he’s able to look upon it.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers reverently, and when he looks up, her cheeks are painted pink and her smile is modest. He presses his lips to hers briefly and sits back again. “You are,” he assures her. “Every bit of you, Rose.”

“Mmm,” she hums skeptically. She fiddles with his collar, where a tie should be. “I think you are too. I’d like to find out.”

As she unfastens the buttons of his shirt, his hands find her breasts magnetically, eager to explore this newly uncovered territory. His fingers knead the soft flesh carefully, watching her face closely to discover what she enjoys. The contact is pleasing but distracting from her task, so she rocks her hips forward into his lap, making him gasp and diverting his attention long enough to tackle the last button.

She slides the open shirt and jacket over his shoulders much like he did with her dress. His fabric is stiffer; it crumples and wrinkles behind his back but is quickly forgotten as he retaliates for her distraction by capturing her nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirls around the peak teasingly, dampening the skin, before pulling away and replacing his fingers as his attention turns to her other breast. He gives the same treatment with his tongue, a tantalizing circle, before suckling gently, holding the hardened bud in place with his teeth.

The rhythmic suction, combined with the agile flicker of his tongue, pulls at something deep within her core and it’s not long until she’s making pleading noises and tugging lightly at the lush hair between her fingers. It’s finally being allowed to do this with him, knowing he wants her, and the sounds, smells, and sights of sex all around them conspiring that have her on a razor’s edge. It won’t take much, she can feel the tension coiling ready to burst, if only he will push her that final distance.

His hand smooths down the plane of her stomach and slinks beneath her dress. He finds the small strap of cloth covering her sex -- a sheer thong that’s barely wide enough to contain the trimmed patch of hair above her folds. Rose has soaked completely through the scant fabric.

The Doctor frees his mouth just enough to speak. “You’re --”

“Please…” she sobs desperately. “So close… wanna come, please…”

He reclaims her nipple obligingly, picking up the stimulation on the receptive peak with an escalating pace of insistence, as his fingers push aside the sodden fabric of her tiny knickers. His thumb rubs her clit once and she thrashes wildly, crying out at the shock of pleasure. It’s the spark, the little jolt before she’ll go tumbling over the edge, and she’s desperate to fall, doesn’t know what she’ll do if he stops now.

She’ll beg again, but she doesn’t need to.  He can feel the strain in her body, pushed to its limit. Rose is trembling above him, and her nails are sharp and prickly where they dig into his neck. The Doctor gives her what she needs gladly, sinking two fingers inside her as his thumb moves slickly over her bundle of nerves with purpose.

Rose shatters. Her whole body shakes and pitches backwards, dislodging her breast from his mouth. It’s just as well; he wants to watch. Her lips are parted, the most melodious moans torn from her throat as her inner muscles ripple and squeeze around his fingers below. Her eyes are tightly shut but her euphoric expression conveys plenty insight as to how she’s feeling. She pants and quivers in the aftershocks for a moment before collapsing onto him heavily.

“Thank you,” she rasps hoarsely, the relief in her voice thick and palpable.

She’s content but hardly sated. Her hands are already wandering. The brilliant orgasm he’s given her has done nothing to quench her desire, it’s only fueled it. Her nerves are raw and humming, and she knows whatever comes next is going to be brilliant.

“We’ve barely started,” he chuckles huskily.

The Doctor sounds oddly bashful and it’s so fucking endearing, she wants him even more. It hardly seems possible, she’s burning for him so much already. Rose is struggling with his trousers, every second that ticks by too long to wait.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he tells her, lifting up so she pull down his trousers, freeing his erection from the confining fabric. No pants. She wonders vaguely just how much thought went into this whole charade. “I knew you would be, I told you.”

She grabs his length in hand, stopping his speech short with a satisfied moan.

“‘S good,” she drawls, watching his eyes as she strokes him. She hopes she can give him the same pleasure he’s making her feel, the same yearning, the same rapture. “So good.” His eyes fall shut and his head lolls back against the top cushion of the sofa. _Yes._ This is what she wants.  She wants him; she wants _more_. “Don’t stop. I need you.”

“Oh, Rose,” he breathes, a helpless edge to his voice that shoots straight to her core. “You’ve no idea.” He picks her up from his lap and flips her easily onto her back. As he pulls off her strappy excuse for a thong she scoots up the couch so he can climb over her, covering her body with his and it’s _gorgeous_ , the weight of him and the warmth of his skin. “Want you so much.”

“Take me,” she murmurs, somewhere between a plea and a demand. Her hand finds his length again and she’s lining up, the head of his cock brushing through her folds and they’re groaning in tandem. “I’m yours, Doctor…” she whispers as he slides inside. “Always.”

“ _Yes_ ,” he growls, sinking into her tight heat faster than he’d planned.

He wanted to begin slowly, but he could never predict this absolute perfection, being surrounded by Rose Tyler. Overcome, his forehead drops to rest on her shoulder, breathing harshly against her skin as he begins to move.

They could finish like this and it would be frantic and quick and wonderful, but he wants more. He will have her again, fast and slow and all variations in between in every way possible, but they’ll never have _this_ again. They won’t be here, joining for the first time, among a multitude of others experiencing the same carnal pleasures.

The Doctor lifts his head to speak to her but notices her attention is divided.

Absorbed as he is in Rose, he hadn’t noticed another couple tumbling into the adjoining armchair. A dark haired woman is pleasuring her male companion with her mouth. The wet sound of her lips engulfing the stranger’s cock can be heard in time with the white vinyl of the chair creaking beneath the man’s quaking hips.

Rose is captivated by the proximity of their lustful display, just a foot or so from their heads. When she catches him watching her watch them, she looks away guiltily, averting her eyes towards the wall.

He leans down, whispering in her ear. “You can touch her, if you want.”

She pulls back suddenly, scrutinizing his face. The offer is unexpected, given his possessive behavior earlier.

“But you said --”

The Doctor interrupts her with hard thrust, his hips crashing into hers recklessly. She throws her head back with a gasp and he smirks appreciatively.

“I want you to be happy,” he explains, burrowing his nose into her hair. He dials back their coupling, pushing inside her at a steady, unhurried pace. “I want you to feel good, with me.”

Her fingers come up to touch his jaw, moving his face back into her view. Gently stroking her thumb across his cheek, Rose studies his eyes again, looking for any signs of reluctance or disagreement. She finds none. Slowly she trails her hand down his arm until she reaches his hand. She twines their fingers together, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, and then reaches out towards the couple on the chair.

Rose touches the woman’s upper arm at first, the contact light and tentative. The woman removes her hand from her partner’s thigh, brings it up slowly and in an unconscious mirror of her actions with the Doctor, Rose’s hand moves down the other woman’s arm until their hands meet. There’s an energy, electric and vital, running between them with this touch. It’s like a circuit completing.

For Rose it’s almost too much. The Doctor is still rocking into her; she can feel the wet slide of his length in and out, in and out. She feels his eyes on her, watching the connection she’s made with this stranger and observing its effect on her. Rose squeezes the woman’s hand, a silent gesture of gratitude, and pulls away.

She reaches up to bury her fingers in his hair but the Doctor catches her hand, pressing a kiss into the palm. Rose wonders if he’s thanking her too.

He pulls away, detangling limbs and sliding free of her sex and for a second Rose panics -- wonders if it really wasn’t okay and she’s gone to far. But then he’s pulling her up with him, and when she’s sitting he guides her hips into position telling her to “Turn around.”

She follows his direction, facing away from him. With a little maneuvering she’s sitting in his lap and together they’re guiding his cock back home. He exhales on a sigh as she takes him in, her inner muscles gripping tightly as though to reclaim him, and sweeps her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck.

Rose shifts to give him leverage and he starts thrusting again, a little faster than before. In this position, she’s able to see other couples as he fucks her, a visual to go along with the noises that surround them.

The Doctor could have joined any of the pairings here; or she could have. It’s one of the fears she had the moment they arrived. But he didn’t. He wanted her. He _wants_ her. It’s his hand pressing firmly on her belly as they move, guiding her motions; his breath panting against her neck. The feeling builds within her; knowing the ever vigilant Doctor is allowing himself to get lost in her.

“Doctor, I…” she begins

She gropes behind for his hand and he finds it quickly, threading their fingers together once more, surrendering to the onslaught of feelings.

“I know,” he professes thickly. He squeezes her hand as she did his before, a gesture of comfort and affection. “I know, Rose. I know.”

The Doctor chants lowly, a mantra and a confession wrapped in one. She’s not alone. Where they are now -- physically, emotionally, symbolically -- he is right here with her, together.

“Please…”

She needs to see him. Needs to hold him face-to-face and connect like she needs air. She lifts up and he whimpers pitifully as his length slips free. She knows his hunger, she feels it too; they’re teetering so close to the edge they can taste it.

“Hurry,” he begs, voice tight and strained.

She scrambles to comply, turning back around in a hurried tangle of limbs and sinking down hastily on his cock again, both of them sighing in contentment. The Doctor begins moving immediately, bucking his hips upwards in urgent thrusts that speed them both on towards completion. Her lips find his in a frenzied kiss and the almost agonized pleasure in his answering moan sends the first pulse of ecstasy sparking low in her belly.

Rose grinds against him and the friction inside and out is enough to send her over the edge; a blissful culmination of all their passion together. She keens into his mouth and clings to him as the shudder runs through her body. It’s perfect. Inwardly, she implores him to follow. Her voice lost to the fading throb of her orgasm, she mouths the words on a silent breath against his lips.

“ _Come, love_.”

His thrusts fall out of rhythm, body shaking with tension before he snaps. His back goes rigid, hips grinding subtly, instinctually against hers as he empties inside her with a harsh shout. The Doctor stills as the euphoria recedes, his face lax with pleasure. His eyes are mostly closed and his mouth hangs slack; he’s breathing raggedly despite any claims to superior biology. It’s a beautiful sight and Rose takes it in greedily, forcing her eyes to stay open and her body upright.

He opens his eyes to see hers staring and he _beams_ at her; the widest toothy grin she’s ever seen. When she smiles back he laughs and it’s a blissful, giddy sound to her ears.

The Doctor gathers her up in his arms gracefully. He’s still inside her and she thinks he must want to stay, because he’s careful not to separate them. He curls around her, all arms and hands and lazy, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder.

His laughter dissolves into a sated purr, and she feels him smile again through his kisses. Rose is grateful for this quiet moment just to themselves, before they have to dress and leave this place, joining the world once again.

“I love you,” she whispers bravely.

It may be trite, confessing right after sex, but it’s how she feels and she can’t run from that anymore. Not when they’re wrapped up together here, bodies tired with exertion and sweat cooling on their skin.

He chuckles airily, the high of his climax lingering. “Quite right, too.”

She starts to lean back, the scowl already forming on her face, but he wraps his arms around her shoulders, bringing her back against him.

“I love you, Rose,” the Doctor says, squeezing her tightly. “So much it scares me.”

“Nothing to be scared of,” she replies, confidence brimming in her voice. “Not when it’s us."

He hums thoughtfully against her skin.

She doesn’t remember, when she was burning, the glimpses of their fated future that shimmered in her mind. But he does. He’s felt the pain of loneliness left behind in her wake and the desperation of a martyr who sacrifices his own happiness. He’s felt the longing of holding her hand, but wanting to hold her heart; of saying hello but wanting to say forever. And now, he’s felt the sublime pleasure of joining his body with hers.

Now they’re connected, timelines merging and blending together, bolstered by the metaphysical energy of so many minds and bodies striving towards ecstasy around them. This is the first step, the first dark corner of the universe uncovered in their quest for unity. If that’s what it takes, the Doctor will shed her light on them all.


End file.
